


Workaround

by StAnni



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst and Feels, Experimental Style, F/M, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 05:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: It’s nothing new, living together, they have been doing it one way or another for years, lifetimes, and the issues that crop up are not new at all.Eliot is the one that actually suggests it, the workaround.





	Workaround

Eliot presses him down onto the mosaic with a strong grip on his forearms – the tiles are warned from the sun and he can’t help but blush when he feels the hard outline of Eliot’s cock rub against his own, only thin fabric of their pants between them. 

Eliot, amused by his red cheeks, smiles close to his ear “What’s wrong, Coldwater? This too much for you?”  
It’s not and it is - he gives a short laugh and shakes his head - no “This? This is not even a thing.”

It’s close to noon and three walkers-by have already gone past the cottage. And they haven’t even managed to finish one set yet because Eliot woke up horny, playful and lazy for actual work.

“Feels like a thing.” Eliot says and his skin smells like sun when he moves his groin, big and hard, against Quentin’s – also hardening despite his best efforts to keep calm. 

Quentin presses up against the hold around his arms and Eliot smiles, shaking his head. “So it is too much for you?” but loosens his grip a tad, enough for Quentin to pull one arm free and reach between them, putting his hand around his own hard dick, to stop the friction. “Enough, someone might see” 

But Eliot is one of those moods where he says crazy things like “Maybe I want someone to see.” And Quentin gives him a look as he removes the hand between them, the feel of Eliot’s firm cock against his knuckles only serving to get him harder. “We’re wasting a day.” 

“Is it wasted?” Eliot leans down and the kiss is quiet, and tentative – which is so Eliot and so endearing that Quentin uses the hand between them to pull him down completely – into something more forceful, hungry.

And now it is Eliot who blushes, lashes dark and blinking before he clears his throat and pulls Quentin up. “Yeah, okay, let’s get inside.”

*

A while after the monster is expelled and Eliot heals and the general insanity of everything barrelling to a point dies down, things finally line up and there is a date.  
The date is followed by another date and then sex and then sleeping over to the point that Eliot politely suggests that Quentin move in.

It’s nothing new, living together, they have been doing it one way or another for years, lifetimes, and the issues that crop up are not new at all.  
Eliot is the one that actually suggests it, the workaround.

“It will be like, you know, a second safety net – just in case one of us fuck-up, that it’s not a massive deal and we end up, you know, imploding.” Eliot doesn’t need to convince him, as far as he is concerned they have always been open in some way or another. He asked for it in Fillory, it only makes sense that they have it now too.

*

Margo sits a seat away from him, at the window, quiet and in thought. The plane is practically empty, she could have had her own row. She could have just gone through a door to Paris, like the others did. She chose to take the long way too, so it must mean something.

Her hands are folded and she is not looking at anything as she gazes out of the window. Just when he wants to say something she glances at him. “I get it, just so you know. I mean. I get it now.”

She sounds tired.

“Are you guys…still close?” He veers, carefully and she exhales, softly. He’s guessing that she wants to lie but she doesn’t “No. We’re…we lost touch.”

Then he says it, because fuck it, it has been two years. “I didn’t. Leave. He asked me to go. Or like… Anyway, it wasn’t up to me.”

He doesn’t look at her when he says it because for some fucking unknown reason he feels like he is betraying a trust that isn’t even there anymore. But he can feel her eyes on him and when he does look up she nods, and her eyes are softer than he’s used to. “I sort of figured.”

*

A literal lifetime ago Eliot is kind and restrained and listens to him explain about Arielle with an easy smile. 

But days after and Quentin runs his hand along Eliot’s shoulder as he crouches next to the mosaic, and there is a stiffness there that wasn’t there before.

“Hey…” He starts and he can hear the smirk in Eliot’s voice, and it allays just a little bit of the burning around his heart. 

“I’m fine, Q. I promise.” 

*

Eliot is beautiful and calm and he listens to every word that Quentin says. His hands are strong and warm and when his fingers rake through Quentin’s hair they leave tingles. 

On good days Eliot smirks and rolls his eyes at Quentin in an argument. On bad days Eliot kicks the table leg, shoves a chair over and ward himself up in the guest room. 

He has impeccable taste in clothes, and furniture and wine and it’s lovely but infuriating when everything in comparison is uncouth. One time Quentin spills some unpronounceable red on their new couch and uses Eliot’s sweater to swipe it up.

It’s on purpose of course, and Eliot gazes at him more baffled than angry, at first, before shoving him down on the stained couch, the wine pressing a red bloom on Quentin’s shirt.

It’s not their first time in the new apartment and it’s not even the best time, but Quentin remembers this time forever.  
He remembers the way that Eliot’s skin is a golden brown because he’d been the beach the weekend and the sound of Eliot’s belt unbuckling, the zipper going down and feel of Quentin’s pants being pulled just low enough for access. 

He remembers the way that Eliot’s breath hitch just slightly when he presses inside, and then pushing in all the way with a thorough thrust.  
And then, a few minutes later, before Eliot is spent Quentin takes charge – as is their way - and pushes up against Eliot, pressing him back. And reaching down, Eliot grabs his hand by the wrist, between his legs and his eyes are serious “Wait, wait…” 

The reason why Quentin will remember this time is because it is the first time since they’ve agreed that Quentin actually realises that Eliot is taking advantage of what they decided. 

“I had sex with someone this afternoon.”

In the moment, heady and blood-rushed it is hot and Quentin feels Eliot open and even maybe slick from lube – it makes him a little crazy - , imagining Eliot on his knees in someone’s bedroom, groaning on strong arms against every thrust – and then he takes what he wants, and legs weak he comes, wild and buried deep inside as his fingers digs into Eliot’s side.

In the moment it is fine because it is what they agreed, it is the only way it will work. They know it is the only way it will work. And they want it to work.

*

The ocean below the place stretch for thousands and thousands of miles and it doesn’t feel like there has been this distance between them. It makes him feel small, thinking that he has suffered a painful yet imaginary proximity.

“His sister died.” Margo says from her corner and Quentin is momentarily stunned. “Delia died? When?” He asks, incredulous and Margo nods before she glances at him. “Car accident. Last May.”

“He didn’t let me know.” Quentin says, a painful grip around his heart – Delia was the only person Eliot was remotely close to in his family. “Yeah, he didn’t let me know either. He texted Julia.”

In the dirty bloody end a lot went wrong, and some things had to fall by the wayside. His friendship with Julia was one of the last vestiges to fall. 

"I wish I knew." Quentin says although he knows that, really, deep down it is a lie. If he had known he would have tried to call Eliot, attempted to make contact with him at whatever cost and it wouldn't have worked. 

He would have fallen back to where he was - and it would have taken him another year to dig himself out of another hole.

"It's okay, Q." Margo says. "I mean, it's just how things worked out, I guess."

*

In the apartment, not their apartment, her apartment, afterwards, the air is cold from the window that doesn’t seal. The bed is a mess and there is a wet spot near his hip, between them, from when he came, his heart clenched in a shamefaced fist and his fists clenched to the mattress.

“I can feel it. Just so you know.” She says next to him. In the icy night the proximity of her skin gives a warm glow – an open flame.

He breathes out, still winded, “What can you feel?” he says, but he knows what she is going to say because it’s obvious.

“Your guilt.” 

“I’m allowed.” He swallows around the answer. He’s right but he’s wrong too. “We both are.” 

When she looks away from him her smile is wan and her eyes are sad, resigned. “You're making a mistake.” 

*

The first time it is the three of them, still not even dark yet, in the cottage bed Eliot is cautious at first – clearly not wanting to make Arielle uncomfortable. Quentin has to yank him close by the hips, bite his shoulder to have him snap and turn Quentin over in a shove, part his legs with his knees and enter him roughly as Arielle watches, transfixed. The first few times are lined with something close to anger or assertion – but it feels good through the pain to have Eliot back.

*

Eliot looks good, healthy and offers a polite smile when he sees them walking up through arrivals. 

They all stand facing each other, quiet for a moment and Eliot is the first one to speak. Hearing his voice again after all this time sends a silent jolt right through Quentin’s heart. 

He shouldn’t have come.

“Thank you, both, for coming.”

Margo nods, unsmiling and rolls ahead to the car waiting outside and Quentin follows a feet or so behind Eliot. 

She gets in the front – which is mercy and the car smells of Eliot’s cologne and his dick his hard because life is a joke.

*

In Fillory a spat about nothing turns into a full-blown fight when Quentin takes Arielle’s side about whether or not Eliot should accompany Quentin and Arielle to her parent’s house. 

“They may not get it, El.” Quentin tries but Eliot, incensed and insulted nearly shoves him clear across the room with battle magic. “You were the one who wanted this, Quentin.” And there really is no talking to Eliot when he is upset and Quentin, heart aching, tries to reason with him anyway. “El, this doesn’t mean that I don’t…”

But Eliot is out of the door and he doesn’t come back for days. 

It is the longest week of Quentin’s life, and finally, one night, Eliot climbs back into bed – his body cold and his heart beating fast. “I’m sorry” he whispers into Arielle’s neck – “I’m sorry” as Quentin rolls on top of him, swallowing the words in kisses.

*

“I am not going to leave Eliot. Ever. I love him. ” Quentin says to her at some point – the words coming fast – unstoppable.

She gives him a look, cool blue and even. “I know, Q.”

She’s also seeing someone, he suspects – a hedge. He’s seen her check her phone from time to time – seen worried looks, smiles. 

That, and it’s the same for him, he can feel her regret too. 

They’re just, really, beating the shit out of each other without using actual blows. 

“You should have told him. “ She says, almost sadly, “He’s gonna find out it’s me and everything’s going to get really fucked up.”  
She always says what he doesn’t have the balls to say. 

*

The car ride is awful, utter silence and Margo falls asleep or pretends to fall asleep as soon as they start moving. Bitch move. 

“You’ll like the school” Eliot says and Quentin has nothing to contribute but to nod, because it’s true, probably. He’s only heard great things about the European leg of Brakebills.

“Who’d have guessed I’d end up a teacher.” Eliot says, more to himself than to Quentin and Quentin can’t think of a single thing to say except “I’d have.” 

“That’s what Jerome said.” Eliot chuckles, and it almost, almost comes across as innocuous – so and so. 

It’s not.

Quentin closes his eyes for a second and the cold french air spilling through the window slips like poison into his veins, encasing his heart in ice. “Yeah, I bet.” 

*

One Sunday night, in the bedroom, in their bedroom, moons ago, Eliot pulls on his jacket, a nice one, and reaches for his watch. 

“Off to church?” Quentin asks in a voice thick with disdain. He’s not a fucking idiot. 

Eliot doesn’t say anything because Eliot never says anything in answer to that type of tone. It is, frustratingly, one of his better characteristics – the ability not to get goaded into an argument.

“Oh, is this one a secret?” It’s juvenile and yeah, maybe he was wrong and Eliot was right and he doesn’t have the confidence to survive and open relationship but there are fucking rules. “Is there a rule providing for secret dates?” He non-asks sarcastically and Eliot non-answers, plainly and without a second’s hesitation. “I don’t ask you about your special friend.” and then Eliot does look at him, those brown eyes – cold. “So perhaps, let’s go a little easy on the enforceability of the rules.”

*

Arielle dies on a cool summer’s night and Quentin can’t stop his heart from shaking apart every time that Eliot gently pulls him closer, gently kisses the tears from his cheeks.

Her mother takes Teddy for a few days.

For a week on end, he keeps Eliot in various stages of undress – fully drowning himself in sex.  
He keens for it, bites Eliot’s lip, neck, shoulder until Eliot bends him over the edge of the wooden frame – fuck him roughly as he begs for more, more. It is raw and open and painful and whenever he grabs Eliot by the hair, pushes him down to his knees – Eliot goes, without question – simply there for anything that Quentin may need.

*

They have been driving for a while and Quentin purposefully but quietly kicks the back of Margo’s chair. She groans but doesn’t move.

“Can I ask you something?” Eliot says, and it’s even but there is a tremor there, he sounds upset, or hiding the fact that he is upset. “Yeah.” Quentin says because what else is he going to do.

“I mean, I know why Bambi came – morbid curiosity and all. But why did you?” It’s fucking mean and Quentin doesn’t want to look in the rearview mirror now because he can feel Eliot’s gaze. Eliot can be a mean bastard sometimes.

“Isn’t it collaborative?” And from the corner of his eye he can see the shrug – so Eliot – he feels nauseous. “You could have said no.”

“Would you have?” Quentin asks, still not looking at him and there is a long silence that follows. He knows that Eliot would like to think that he would have said no to a request to assist on a collaborative magic spell for the new school. He’d be wrong, but he would like to think it. “No, I guess not.” 

But then he adds, because he is Eliot after-all “I mean, not now.” 

*

When it all goes to shit, afterwards and at first, Alice doesn’t respond to his texts. 

So he waits in the hotel lobby for two hours. 

It’s a Tuesday and it will be a Tuesday forever. He is pretty messed up from the fight with Eliot an hour before - the last wheel coming off, shouting match, nearly killing each other shit-show. 

When he sends her the last text he will ever send her she responds with the last text he will ever get from her “I warned you.” 

*  
In Filory, afterwards, Eliot turns him down like he is turning off a light. 

Easy. 

His heart drops, like a stone – cut from its tether by Eliot’s sharper edges.

He agrees, burning with tender humiliation “Yeah, no sure” 

Later Eliot calls him the braver of them. He’s not braver – he’s just careless. They are both just so careless.

*  
When they get to the school Margo, who “ woke up” a few minutes earlier stares at the building with absolutely no expression. Eliot watches her and Quentin watches them. 

“Come on, Bambi, what do you think?” Eliot tries and at the endearment her eyes snap to Eliot, hard. “I’m going to go find your fucking husband I have never met.” She says and gets out of the car, slamming the door.

For a moment Eliot seems genuinely shocked, but he then shakes his head, moves his hand to his and Eliot can't see anything but a quick wipe of his fingers. "That's going to take some time." he says.

With his eyes down-turned and his voice quiet, it's almost like his armor is cracked and Quentin can see inside. “I never meant for things to fall apart the way it did.” 

Quentin knows that he is really talking about Margo. “But you were there, Q, you know how bad it got.” 

It’s true and it is ugly in a way that you never want to look at it, in a way that floods happen and siblings die and nothing can un-break a heart. “It got pretty bad.” Quentin agrees, voice thick as he watches Eliot’s back, still strong, tense like that morning in Fillory.

“Are you happy?” He asks, because he does, really, want Eliot to be happy “Does he make you happy?”

Eliot doesn’t answer right away but looks at him in the rear-view mirror – eyes clear this time, but soft in a way that he hasn’t seen in years.  
“Nobody will be you, Q.” 

It’s true. It cuts, but it's true. 

“Same.”


End file.
